


The Game

by WritingIllusions (orphan_account)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Romance, andruil's wrath, because im terrible, because solas doesn't want her, my version of it anyways, set in ancient arlathan, the wolf wants his halla
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-12 11:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7101337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/WritingIllusions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nayah Lavellan is a Guardian of Andruil's temple. Her life, uneventful and mundane, is not what she had hoped, but the feeling of content at being marked as property to one of the Elven Gods was beginning to creep in. Everything was fine. That is, until the Dread Wolf prances in and sets chaos to everything.</p><p>--</p><p>*Under revision*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Deception

The sun began to set, hiding its light behind the emeralds of the forest. It had been a long day, as all the others usually were, but today was excruciatingly so. Perhaps because Abelas had not stopped by to keep her company. Lana’s absence may have played a part in this predicament, too.

Nayah sighed, resting her weight on her left leg as she leaned against one of the eight marble pillars erected in Andruil’s temple. The temple was grand, with a flight of steps carved out of Summer Stone and Lazurite statues of the Huntress guarding either side of the exquisite golden door. Many came daily to pay their respects to the Goddess of the Hunt, traveling to Arlathan from across the globe. Nayah knew the regulars, but was always weary of new worshipers. 

Other than the absence of her two trusted friends, the day went on much like any other, with hunters and the like coming to pay homage to the Goddess prior to their hunt. Without her fellow Guardian to gossip about the causal romances between Arlathan nobles and who wore what to the many balls that the Evanuris threw to celebrate whatever they were celebrating, the day dragged. Lana was called to stay in Arlathan for reasons not disclosed. It was rumored that the Goddess would be taking on more Sentinels and the natural conclusion was that Lana was one of the candidates. She was an expert marksman, surpassed by only Andruil herself. 

And Abelas did not stop by to visit like he usually did, perhaps busy training new Guardians for Mythal. 

The day was coming to an end. The grandiose, gold doors to the temple were closing as the last of the worshipers made their exit. Nayah shifted, letting her bow fall to her side as she bowed her head in respect. She waited till the last of the bodies disappeared behind the blanket of the forest and proceeded to inspect the grounds for any loiters. The Guardians were tasked with keeping the grounds outside of the temple in check, while Sentinels protected the inside of the temple. Nayah had never been inside, for she had never paid worship to any of the Gods prior to becoming a Guardian. Nor was she a Sentinel allowed the highest honor of residing inside the temple. Lana had never been inside, either, which explained the young, fair-haired maiden’s excitement at the prospect of becoming a Sentinel. 

As she made the circle around the temple, Nayah couldn’t help but smile as memories of her longest friend flashed before her. The had met in the training grounds, each a new recruit for the Guardians. They clicked immediately, forming an inseparable bond of friendship. And now that bond would be severed by those golden doors if Lana passed the test. Nayah wondered if she would ever see her friend, since Sentinels were not allowed to leave the temple and there was no guarantee that Nayah would ever get in. In fact, she wasn’t so sure that she wanted in. She liked her freedom, what little of it remained. 

With her inspection coming to an end, Nayah resumed her stance against the pillar and waited for her replacement. One of the other Guardians would be taking post till sunrise. As she waited, she caught the faintest sound of leaves rustling to her right. Normally, she would not be alarmed since her replacement would be arriving any minute. But Ryul and Saleh always came from the path to the temple’s left side. She quickly and skillfully pulled an arrow from the quiver on her back with her right hand while the left raised her bow. She nestled the arrow and drew back the string, ready to fire. She called out to the stranger, “Who goes there?” Her fingers tingled with fear and adrenaline as her eyes scanned the setting darkness. 

More rustling of leaves, but Nayah could not pinpoint from where. She aimed her shot left, right, down, left - anywhere she thought the sound to be coming from. 

“Ir abelas,” she heard the calm, cool voice of a man reply. The voice was soon accompanied by its owner as a shadowed figure began to materialize in front of her. Her eyes squinted in an attempt to better see the stranger, but made no move to put down her bow. 

Instead, she held her aim steadfast on the man. “You trespass on sacred ground. Who are you?”

His features were becoming more clear as he stepped further from the shadows. His hands were up, as if signaling that he meant no harm. “Simply a lost traveler on my way to Arlathan.” 

The man was of great stature, taller than perhaps even Abelas. He had long, dark hair pulled to the side and the resemblance of what she assumed was supposed to be a braid holding it together. His eyes, the color of the sky, were soft as his lips pulled back into a nervous smile. His clothes did not stand out as neither a noble or a peasant. His breeches were a dull, olive color and his white tunic created a perfect contrast to his tanned skin. He carried one measly bag on his shoulder - remarkably odd for a traveler - and as far as she could tell, he posed no threat.

She lowered her weapon and placed the arrow back in its resting place. “You’ve ventured from the main path, but you are not very far from Arlathan. It is perhaps another hour’s walk from here.” She strapped her bow against her and stepped down the Summer Stone stairs. “If you like, I can show you the way.”

“Ma serannas. I would be in your debt.”

\----

And so, Nayah and the traveler set upon their way when Ryul and Saleh arrived. 

“So, what brings you to Arlathan?” 

The question must have caught him off guard for he hesitated in his reply. “I am visiting some family.” 

His reply was queer, but Nayah did not press any further. Most that traveled to Arlathan did so as a pilgrimage to the Gods or because they had been plucked from their homes and chosen to serve as Guardians. She supposed that, in this case, the man simply missed his family enough to travel to the Holy city in hopes of seeing their faces again.

“That temple - was it Andruil’s?” His voice was inquisitive, innocent.

“Yes.” She led the way, stepping upon scattered stones in an incline. “The Goddess of the hunt has many temples outside of Arlathan. Lucky for you, you stumbled upon the closest one.” Her voice and breathing were even despite the exertion of climbing up a steep slope. 

“Ah, yes. Lucky indeed.” The man moved behind her, following her footing. “Have you been a Guardian long? You’re remarkably swift in your movements and your aim is precise.”

She chuckled, finding his compliment of her skills unfitting. “Not long, no. Although I have not bothered to count - perhaps, maybe five years or so? In truth, I aimed frantically against the darkness for anything that made sound until you stepped out.” 

“Then your ears are gifted, da’len. In an attempt to evade your shots, I moved back and forth, but your arrow followed me. That is why I stepped out in defeat.” He chuckled, a light rumble in chest that played like a beautiful melody. “Better defeat than an arrow to the head.”

‘Evade my shots? Why would a traveler evade my shots if he were not a threat to me?’ she pondered his reply. As they reached level ground, she turned back to him with a question hot on her tongue. “Why were-” before she could finish, she lost her footing in her turn. Her ankle twisted against a tree bark and she fell forward. 

Her descend did not make it far as two strong arms grabbed her. He straightened her balance as he pulled her up, one hand resting on her arm and the other on her waist. “Are you alright?” 

“Yes,” but the wince she gave when she put weight on her foot betrayed her. “Just a sprain, I think.” 

“Here, let me take a look.”

“It’s fine. I’ll-” before she could finish her protest, she found both his hands at her waist as he pushed her down on a large nearby rock. She sat down willingly, glad to take the weight off her foot. He knelt down in front of her and set his travel bag to the side. His hands, warm and calloused, pulled her leg to rest on his knee as he inspected it. 

She was about to begin her protest again, but silence took over her as a light green color flashed from his hands. _Healing magic._

“You’re a mage?” she asked, absentmindedly.

He made quick work of her injury before setting her leg back down on solid ground. “Something like that,” he replied with a smile she couldn’t quite place. Sincerity? Humble? Evasive? 

Rather than probe, she said her thanks and the two were back on their way to Arlathan, her question long lost on her tongue. 

\-----

As they entered the beautiful city, Nayah turned to her companion. “Here we are. I hope your family will be excited to see you.” He had explained to her that his visit was unbeknownst to them, a surprise of sorts.

“That makes two of us.” He looked around, taking note of surroundings. “It sure has changed.” 

“You’ve been to Arlathan before?” Her curiosity was getting the best of her. There was just something off about this man and her mind would not rest till she knew what.

“Yes, as a very young boy.” He turned to her, smiling as he quickly dodged further questions. “Thank you for leading me here.”

“It was no trouble.” As they were about to part ways, it struck her that she did not even know this man’s name. “Ir abelas, I forgot to get your name.”

“Ah,” he replied, but another voice beat him to it. 

_“The Dread Wolf returns.”_

She knew that voice. And she would have knelt down immediately had she not been paralyzed from fear. The man she had aimed her arrow at, the man who tended to her wound, the man who stood before her with a mischievous smirk was none other than Fen’Harel, one of the Evanuris, the God of Rebellion. She heard Andruil’s steps as she descended the stairs and smelled the faint scent of roses as the Goddess approached her. With all her will, Nayah managed to tear her eyes away from the blue cages that Fen’Harel held her gaze in. She quickly knelt down, bowing her head. “My lady.”

Andruil beckoned for her to rise and dismissed her with a wave of her delicate hand. Her white dress, with slits on both sides reaching up to her thighs, fluttered and hugged the curves of her thighs as she approached the Wolf. “I knew you would come back to me.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling as her hands played with his hair. “I’ve missed you.”

Nayah had risen from her bow and with one last glance at the God that deceived her, she set out to her home, having found her presence to be intruding on their moment. His eyes lingered on her receding form as he neglected to return the Goddess’ affection. It did not matter how much he turned her away, Andruil would not relent until she caught the Wolf. 

“I wish I could say the same.” 

Her hands seized their twirling, letting his dark hair glide off her fingers. She hated being turned down and with each passing neglection from him, she became more and more infuriated. But she would have her way. “Play all you want, little wolf. I am the Goddess of the Hunt.” She perched up on her toes, bringing her red lips closer to his ears. _“I will catch you.”_

He gave no reply. His eyes were mesmerized by the young Guardian, the way her hips swayed ever so slightly as she walked away from the tangled pair. She was beautiful, there was no denying it, and he would have her scream his name as she soaked his sheets in ecstasy, even if just to spite Andruil. But there was something about her that sparked his desire. Perhaps he found arousal in being on the receiving end of her arrow, her ignorance in challenging a God. No, maybe it was her curiosity, her suspicion of him, her keen sense. Whatever the case, he absolutely had to know more about her. 

Having not elicited any response from Wolf with her remark, Andruil pulled back and studied his face. Her eyes followed his and her mind pieced together the puzzle. “Ah, enticed by the snow-haired huntress.” She chuckled, running her fingers across his toned chest as she circled him. “She’s one of my best. Picked her up in some rotting, small village after my scouts learned of an expert young archer. I absolutely had to have her. Still a babe for her years, but you’ve always liked them young. Tell me, would you like to have her worship you at your Altar, kneeling before you as she sucked your cock and begged for you to fuck her senseless?” She stopped at his side, again close to his ear as her hand rested but an inch from his groin. “I can gift her to you,” she purred seductively. 

His eyes finally tore away and landed on Andruil, darting back and forth as he took in her features. She had not changed much, still adorning the same exuberant red lipstick and scantily there clothing. He smirked, licking his lips. Her eyes lit up at the thought of finally having caught her Wolf with something so simple as a cunt from no noble birth, a peasant, a slave. He was in her grasp.

“Ma serannas, but I prefer the chase.” With a light chuckle, the Wolf pulled away from the stunned Huntress.

\---


	2. The Decoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wolf plans his deceit, but needs something to keep probing minds preoccupied. Enter: the decoy.

“What of Geldauran, Daern'thal and Anaris? Do they believe you to be one of them?”*

“Yes,” the Wolf replied, a smug smirk adorning his lips to accentuate his accomplishments. “They were easy enough to fool. They are blinded by my lies and as far as they know I am here to gather information and plot against my own kin for them.” He shook his head, recalling how easily the Evil Gods took his offer of help. He proposed to them an alliance of interest, he would help them defeat the Evanuris and they, in turn, would allow him to rule Arlathan alone. Convincing them was child’s play since he was the God of Rebellion. But what they did not know was of his intent to betray them, to infiltrate their trust and seal them away when the time was right. _When the time was right._

“Excellent.” It was Elgar’nan who spoke, his voice full of authority. “For centuries we have warred with them, but no more. We will have their defeat.”

“Indeed,” replied the Wolf.

“How did you convince them so easily?” Dirthamen, the ever suspicious God of Secrets, asked. Of course Dirthamen would be the one to question him. The only God capable of unraveling his entire plan if he slipped in the slightest.

“Desperation, my brother.” His reply was solemn, but the questioning look on Dirthamen’s face lingered, prompting the Wolf to delve further in his explanation. “They are fatigued, exhausted. The countless years of war and not so much as an inch of success to show for it have taken a toll on them. They are still too strong for us to take on, but they are desperate for leverage. I offered that leverage and they took the bait.”

“What does it matter,” June interjected, “how he deceived them? All that matters is that we are on the brink of destroying these little pests.” 

“Patience, June.” The melodic voice of Mythal filled the room, creating an almost calming effect within each of the Evanuris. She was always so comforting in her manner, her voice, her presence. “We must let Fen’Harel do his work. When the time is right, we will strike. We cannot act until he has their full trust.”

_When the time is right._

Fen’Harel’s eyes watched the golden-haired Goddess as she rose from her throne, descending the many steps and stopping right in front of him. Her lips broke into a smile, the skin under her eyes creasing from happiness. “My friend,” she beamed with joy as she embraced him in the warmth of her arms, “it is good to see you return to us.” 

He returned her gesture with a light-hearted laugh. “It is good to be back.”

Mythal pulled away, “Go rest. You must be weary from your travels. We will discuss the details later.” She turned on her heel and addressed one of the servants nearby. “Draw a bath for him. And have the kitchen prepare a feast fit for Kings. Our Wolf has returned and I would have all of Arlathan know it.”

 

\---

Mythal had always been like a mother to them all, always caring for them and celebrating any accomplishments they made. Back when they were revered as nothing more than powerful mages, she would celebrate each of their Namedays. There would always be wine enough to fill the sea, delectable meats and salted cheeses towering to the skies, and these frilly, little cakes that he enjoyed so much. But millennia have passed since then, and left behind were the titles of Kings and Queens and simplicities of celebrating yearly anniversaries. Now they were Gods, worshipped by all Elvhen people and perhaps even some shems.

The Wolf chuckled at his memories as he sank further into the marble tub, charging the water with magic until the temperature was just right. 

His plan was coming together and the thought of it unnerved him more than a little. What if he was caught? The Gods were capable of anything and would surely see to his demise. He needed a decoy, something to distract them with, to keep them from asking probing questions. 

\------

_‘Stupid, stupid, stupid.’_ Nayah cursed herself as she pushed open the door to her sleeping chambers. _‘I pointed my arrow at a God!’_ In her defense, she didn’t know he was a God. How was she supposed to know? It’s not like she had ever seen him before. In fact, Nayah wanted little to do with or hear of the Evanuris before coming here. Everyone in her village knew about the Gods, spoke of them, but none had actually seen them. In that regard, her actions were justified. He could have been some homeless thief trying to desecrate the temple of Andruil for all she knew.

_‘Wait, did I say anything I wasn’t supposed to?’_ Panic began to set itself anew within her as she desperately raked her mind, recalling their small conversations. She didn’t remember saying anything wrong. _‘It’s his fault if I did! He should have revealed himself as the God that he is, not the beggar he was dressed as.’_ She slumped down on her bed, no less panicked than before. _‘What am I even saying? He would have my head for looking at him queer.’_

She sighed, coming to terms with the fact that her life might soon be over. And at the hands of the Dread Wolf, no less.

“Nayah!” She recognized the sudden shriek outside her door and quickly jumped to her feet, leaving worry behind.

“Lana!” she beamed back, green eyes alight with excitement as she swung open the door. “How did it go? Are the rumors true? Will you become a Sentinel?”

The fair-haired elf laughed off her friends excitement and pushed past her. “And you say I’m the gossip whore.”

“Oh, you are,” Nayah smirked, “you’re just starting to rub off on me.”

Lana playfully shoved her friend before taking a seat at the edge of the bed. Her laughter died down, her voice becoming solemn and serious. “I begin training tomorrow.”

Nayah’s smile waned as realization washed over her. _She made it._ Lana was to become a Sentinel, a figment in Nayah’s memory after tonight. The years they spent building their friendship played before her eyes and she fought back the tears, forcing a smile to grace her features. “That’s great, Lana! I’m so happy-”

“Is it?” She sounded unsure. 

“What do you mean?” Confused, Nayah sat down next to her friend, resting a reassuring hand on the woman’s shoulder. “You’ve wanted nothing more than to be a Sentinel since I’ve known you. Of course that’s great.”

Lana was the epitome of a faithful and dutiful worshipper. If asked, Nayah was certain the woman before her would kiss the ground Andruil stepped on. She remembered the first day they stood guard at Andruil’s temple and the way Lana’s eyes lit up at the sight of the golden doors. _”I’m gonna be there one day. I will serve as one of Andruil’s Sentinels. Just watch._ ” Nayah had scoffed at her, asked the young elf what could possibly have been so enticing about being locked up behind stone for the rest of her life.

“ _The highest honor,_ remember?” Nayah pulled the other woman to her chest, embracing her friend as she recalled the answer Lana had given her years ago. “You are a maiden of Andruil and a damn fine marksman. Follow your faith.” Tears threatened to spill, but Nayah kept them at bay. She would spare Lana from seeing the sadness of losing her. She would be strong for her, even if she did not share Lana’s faithfulness to these deities.

Lana stirred, reluctantly returning the hug. “But what about the part where I am locked behind stone walls all day?”

Nayah laughed, a contagious melody that caused Lana to smile back. “Maybe there are some fine Sentinel men to keep you entertained.”

\----

The pair stayed up for as long as they could manage, reminiscing on the last six years together. It was almost break of dawn when the two parted ways, tightly embracing each other one last time. They said their goodbyes, wished the other the best of luck and happiness, and let the tears fall freely once each was behind the safety of the wooden door. 

_‘First I disrespect the God of Rebellion and then I lose my best friend to the fanatic worshippers. The day could not get any better.’_ With heavy eyes, the snow-haired rouge collapsed on her bed and lost herself to slumber.

\----

She awoke hours later, groggily rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The past day’s events replayed in her mind, a sudden sadness washing over her. Lana was really gone and she would never again stand guard with her at Andruil’s temple.

She pushed aside her feelings and quickly ran to wash up and prepare for another day. She drew back her hair in a messy bun and changed into a clean clothes. Though she had only had a few hours of rest thanks to the late hours spent recalling embarrassing moments between Lana and herself, Nayah still managed to fight off exhaustion as she set out. She dashed through the streets of Arlathan, grabbing a roll of bread from the baker as she did every morning. 

Once she was out of the city her pace slowed and she allowed herself a bite of the soft dough. It melted in her mouth and her stomach was all to happy to finally be receiving food. She had barely ate yesterday.

“You look like shit.”

The sound of his voice startled her and the lump of bread she was chewing on caught in her throat. She began to cough furiously, pounding her chest in an attempt to catch air as she tried to swallow down the dough. He caught on and quickly stepped to her side to assist her, but she held out her hand to stop him. 

Once her fury of coughs subsided and her airways were unrestricted by scrumptious bread, she looked at the face adorned with Mythal’s mark. “Next time make your presence known, Abelas,” she managed to croak out between heaves. 

“I did,” he offered innocently.

“Perhaps with more subtlety. Or, better yet, just wait until I’m done eating.”

“Ir abelas,” he hung his head. 

“Where were you yesterday?” She grabbed his arm and pulled him along, resuming her walk to the temple. “I was bored out of my mind.”

“Ir abelas, da’len,” he offered again and she rolled her eyes. How sorry can one man be? “I was training new Guardian recruits.”

“Thought as much.” A comfortable silence fell between the two. Minutes ticked by and before they knew it the temple was in sight. Nayah suddenly remembered that Lana would not be joining her, as if the temple was serving as a memory of her friend. “Lana is to become a Sentinel.”

“I know,” he replied. She felt a sudden tug on her arm and spun around to find the other elf planted in his spot. “Actually, that is why I came to see you. Mythal has chosen me as her Sentinel.” 

The words stung at her heart, her body paralyzed. She was losing her last bit of happiness in the form of a man she called friend. “I’m happy for you, Lethallin.”

She leaned in to embrace him in a congratulatory hug, but he stepped back and grabbed a tight hold of her arms. He held her there as his eyes searched hers, his lips pressing into a thin line. “She is giving me freedom to choose.” 

Nayah quirked an eyebrow, almost intrinsically. She’d always assumed that if the Gods called you to serve as a Sentinel, locked away for all eternity in one of their stupid temples, then that was that. No negotiating, no choice. He continued, his grip never wavering.

“She is kind and knows there is something that pulls me out here, in this life” he offered as explanation. He knew the way she felt about the Gods. Nayah had made it plainly known to those she called friends that she garnered no kindness for the beings that tore her away from her family and forced her into this life she called slavery. _Slavery painted in another light, adorned with shades of holiness and covered up as faithful servitude_ , as she liked to say. Take away their titles and they would be no different from slaves, held by a leash and not allowed to venture past their owner’s keep, serving their owners in whatever way they pleased. But Abelas knew Mythal to be different from the other Evanuris and defended the Goddess in front of his friend.

“And?” Nayah pressed.

“Do you really not know?” His voice took on a defeated tone, his hands loosening their grip before falling to his sides. “Have I not been forward enough?”

“Abelas-”

“Is there another?”

“Of course not-”

“Then why do you deny me?”

She took a sharp breath, unaccustomed to the harsh tone Abelas’ voice was taking on. She pondered her answer. Abelas was an attractive man, with stature and handsome features. Kind eyes. A beautiful heart.

But he represented all that she hated in Arlathan. He was faithful to a fault, would die a million times for the God that kept him on a leash. How could she love someone with ideals so against hers? “Lethallin, you know-”

“Well, well, well.” Nayah’s sentence was cut short as she whipped her head back, eyes locking in with pools of blue. Where did he come from? How long had he been around? Why was he here? “We meet again, little dove.”

Fen’Harel’s smirk grew as he seized up Abelas, approaching the pair with calculated steps. “It is good to see you, Abelas.”

“My lord.” He offered no other words as he watched the Wolf circle around Nayah, stalking his prey. One armor clad arm reached out to her, hooking itself around her waist. The other rose to her cheek, gently stroking her burning skin. She wanted to slap his hand away, but fear kept her from putting thoughts into action. Abelas could do no more than watch.

Nayah burned. With rage, embarrassment, pity. Rage for the way the Dread Wolf touched her without consent, embarrassment for being shown this attention and in front of another man, and pity for the shell of a man that stood before her. How could she love a man that could not stand up to a so-called God, settling instead to watch the woman he claimed to love be groped by him.

“I shall take my leave.”

“Please do,” the Wolf replied without taking his eyes off the snow-haired vixen. Her eyes refused to meet his, but that only worked to fuel his chase.

\----

“You are angry with me.” He was stating the obvious. 

Nayah had managed to free herself from the Wolf and took position at her post, watching as Ryul and Saleh exchanged confused and terrified glances, no doubt due to her company. Apparently everyone knew who the Dread Wolf was. Everyone except her. The Guardians left without a word, perhaps too terrified by the being before them to question his presence. 

“Will you not tell me what I’ve done to deserve this?” His voice was laced with playfulness, no doubt finding the situation amusing. 

“You lied.” 

“I did no such thing. I merely omitted.”

“You can’t just omit the fact that you are the Dread Wolf, the God of Rebellion! What if I had shot you?” Her stern face broke into anger, the fire in her eyes setting on him.

He threw his head back in a roaring laugh, “You assume that you could take down the God of Rebellion?”

“Well,” she paused, processing his words. He was right. Her flimsy, little arrow would have probably left little more than a scrape on him. “I could have.”

His laughter subsided, his hand once again reaching for her cheek. He caught a loose strand of snow, twirling it on his finger as he smiled down at her. “Oh, _little dove_ , where have you been all my life?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *In case someone doesn’t know, they are the Forgotten Ones that the Evanuris warred against.
> 
> I’m really terrible at catching my own mistakes, so I apologize in advance for grammatical errors. For some reason, I want to give Abelas some angst. He seemed sad and hollow when we encountered him in Mythal’s temple and I just thought to myself, “What silly little girl went and broke your heart? C’mere, let me love on you.”
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this. I know there is an endless pool of amazing Solas (and DAI in general) fics on here and that you took the time to read mine means the world <3 Feedback is always appreciated.


	3. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wolf plots.

He spent every waking moment thinking about it. About _her_. How best to intertwine her in his scheme. She wouldn’t come easily, that much was clear. She had a strong resolve and even stronger hatred toward his kind. But he needed her.

His charm wouldn’t be enough, not this time. No promise of riches or declarations of love (or was it lust?) would be enough to bring her to him. No, she was different. She would require more work on his part. It would be more authentic that way, he told himself. He needed her.

He didn’t have much time. Each passing day was a treacherous maze for him to navigate, avoiding their suspicions at every turn. _She_ would be a good distraction, both for the Gods and for him. Andruil will be angry, he thought. Good, he thought. He needed that. **He needed her**.

\---

“Why serve Andruil?”

He continued to linger, day after day, week after week, despite her best attempts at making it clear that his presence was unwelcome. She had a job to do.

“It was not by choice.” The sudden question of her servitude stirred up old memories. Her mother’s tear stained face materialized in her head as she tried her damndest to fight back the floods of her past. It always made her cry, and she would rather be swallowed by the void than allow herself a moment of weakness in front of a God, in front of the ones who ripped her from her mother’s arms.

He remained silent for a while, pondering, contemplating. She shifted against the pillar she leaned on, uncomfortable and uneasy as worshippers walked past her with questioning glances. Did they know the man who stayed glued to her, pestered her to no end, to be the Dread Wolf? Of course they did. 

The situation did not seem to phase the Wolf at all and he stepped closer to her, leaning his head in to the side of her face, his breath hot on her skin as he spoke. “Come with me instead.”

For a moment she did not register the words. She tuned him out during most of their one-sided conversations, occasionally humming a yes to one of his many questions, albeit absentmindedly.

But this, this caught her attention. Was the Dread Wolf tempting her, testing her faith to Andruil? What game was this?

She whipped her face around to meet his, almost knocking their heads together. He pulled back slightly, just in time to avoid the collision. Nayah debated her answer, thinking over her options. Should she tell him how she really felt about his kind? Or should she just keep her mouth shut and spare herself punishment or, if she was lucky, death? 

Perhaps recent events made her bolder today. She had lost her best friend, the only good thing in Arlathan in her opinion, to the crazed Huntress and her stone walls. The only other person she called by an endearing title stood useless before her as the God of Rebellion caressed her, abandoning her to the hands of the Wolf. If only Lana had been there to stop the words that were about to spew out of Nayah’s mouth. But she wasn’t. She was just passed those stone walls that Nayah guarded, within reach but forever out of her grasp. 

“Come with you?” She spat the words in disgust. “Why? So I can be your slave, trade one master for another? I would rather die than live in servitude of glorified mages, but I made a promise to someone that I would come back. So I endure. But I would not trade one leash for another, Dread Wolf.” 

The words left her mouth of their own accord, she could do little to stop them. Her mask began to crumble. Those words would mean her death, leaving her promise unfulfilled. But she quickly regained her facade. If she was to die, she would not die regretting the truth in her words. She had just begun to come to terms with this life and he had to go and rip the bandaid off.’ Serves him right,’ she thought, ‘he shouldn’t have provoked me.’

She expected him to backhand her, even prepared for it. Expected him to drag her back to Arlathan and order her to be whipped until no part of her body remained unmarked. Hell, she would have even expected him to bring his wrath upon her, smite her where she stood. But she did not expect this. She did not expect him to step closer, did not expect his eyes to soften and his cool touch to calm the burn of her cheeks as he traced her vallaslin.

“I would see you free of these markings, _my dove._ ” His voice had lost all traces of jest, replaced by a solemn, earnest tone. The symbolism of the word was not lost to her. He would release her like those trained, ceremonial white doves, breeded for only one purpose and then left to fend for themselves. “You are far too lively to be kept on a leash, caged by those who do not deserve even your presence. I would have you walk the halls of my temple, not as a slave, but as my equal. There is a fire in you that I cannot deny. I am drawn to it like moths to a flame. Let me prove it to you. Let me _free_ you.” 

He was full of sincerity as he took in the traces of Andruil’s markings. He hated to see them, hated the way they marred her beauty. If he had his way these markings would be buried in the past, a shameful mistake of his people never to be remembered.

Nayah remained still, silent. Had she heard what she thought she heard? Surely this was some joke on the Wolf’s part. The seriousness of his words sank in and it was her turn to throw her head back in a roaring laugh. “Andruil would kill you.”

\---

There was merit in her words, but kill was such a strong expression. The Huntress would be angry, sure, but he doubted she would go against him. She would try, and she would fail. But he needed that.

He sat there at one end of the grand table, various wines, meats and delectables laid before him. He was lost in thought, planning and strategizing how best to fool the Gods. But the young snow-haired Guardian kept protruding his thoughts, kept him for forming any solid course of action. 

She laughed at him. Actually _laughed_ in the face of Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf. His words were meant to entice her, to wrap her around his finger as he pulled her strings like a puppet. But she laughed it off like he was some jester. She would require **a lot** more work on his part, it seemed.

_He would enjoy chasing her, playing this cat and mouse game until he caught her in his trap._

“My dear, Dread Wolf,” Mythal laid a delicate hand on his shoulder and he looked up out of his trance to find the Goddess smiling, “whatever has your mind so preoccupied?” She had taken note of his demeanor, his solemn form slumped back in the chair. It was unusual for him, the man who at any celebration, any gathering, would have young maidens cradled in his lap in an attempt to beat Falon’Din. It was a silent competition between them, who could bed the most women. A race the Dread Wolf rarely lost.

But tonight he refused to share their company, dismissing their offerings with a wave of his hand. “Forgive me, Lethallan. I have been thinking about my next course of action and how best to approach the Gods. I fear they may be onto me.” It was not a lie. He did not specify which Gods. And omitted the part where _she_ kept foiling his thoughts. 

Mythal’s lips drew back into a knowing smirk, “Come, walk with me.”

He didn't refuse. Would not dare to. He followed her out onto the grand terrace, carved out of gold, away and safe from prying eyes and ears. 

“Who is she?”

The question caught him off guard and his body went rigid. There was no apprehension in her voice, no anger, no emotion save genuine curiosity. But he stood still, frozen in place. Was he that obvious? If she was able to gather that much, how much did she really know? 

His surprise at such a simple question might breed suspicion, he thought. He would not dance around it, lest he give himself away, for Mythal was the greatest of dancers.

“You amaze me with your skills of observation, Lethallan,” he covered up. There was no use in lying to his oldest friend about this, she would see right through him. Besides, he was allowed to chase and bed whomever he pleased, so his desire for this Guardian did not require secrecy. “A Guardian. One of Andruil’s.”

The Goddess turned to him, her face something he could not quite place. Shock? Discontent? “Why must you anger her further?” He knew what she alluded to. Practically everyone knew that Andruil wanted the Wolf, wanted to claim and mark him for her own. But he would not relent, refused to share her bed. 

“I do not desire her. Her anger for whom I choose to bed is of no concern to me.” Fen’Harel leaned back against the gold-plated railing, watching the crease form on Mythal’s forehead. 

“She’s not my type,” he offered with feigned innocence.

Mythal sighed, feeling though as she was a mother trying to make her unruly children get along. “You could take any woman you want to bed, must it be one of hers?”

It was true. He could take any woman he wished, whether willingly or forcefully, a woman of noble birth or one already in servitude to the Gods - no woman was off limits, not even Andruil’s maidens. Why should he care if it angered the Huntress that he refused her, opting instead to take one of her slaves to his bed, to worship a commoner like a Queen and leave the Goddess of the Hunt a laughing stock.

He could just imagine the things people would whisper. _A maiden of Andruil was able to tame the God of Rebellion, where the Huntress could not?_ The scandal. 

A dark snicker rumbled through him at the thought. Perhaps he would even invite the Huntress to watch as he pleasured one of her own. “A man wants that which he is told he cannot have.”

He needed Andruil's wrath and the consequential distraction it would provide. _He needed her._ And bedding her would be just an enjoyable side benefit.

\---

“The Dread Wolf has taken quite a liking to you.”

Even the deaf could hear abhorrence in his voice.

It wasn’t like she wanted his attention. In fact, she would be rather happy never seeing him again. But he was relentless. No matter how bold her loathsome remarks of his kind, and they had become increasingly more bold as comfort settled between them, he would remain. 

Comfort, she thought. When did comfort slip its way between her and the Dread Wolf? Was it during the times he would stroke her cheek, tell her how beautiful she was and that she deserved freedom? Was it the times he would throw his head back in a hearty laugh, a beautiful melody that thrummed through her entire being? Perhaps it was when he would take her hand, gently, after the worshippers disappeared behind temple walls, and trace languid circles in her palm as his soft eyes held hers. “You deserve better,” he said. “You deserve to be free,” he said. “Come with me,” he said.

Nayah shook her head as if to toss out all thought of the Dread Wolf. “I hadn’t noticed.” Sarcasm was not a tone she used often with Abelas, and it was foreboding. He was losing her to the Dread Wolf, and he wondered if even she was aware of that.

He had no reply for her, no further comments on her borderline obsessive new companion. And what could he say after he let her fall into his claws so easily?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone that reads these drabbles of mine and takes the time to comment. You guys deserve the Kudos <3


	4. The Bait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wolf baits Nayah with calculated gifts.

“He spites me!” 

The dark-haired huntress paced, her steps heavy with anger and humiliation. 

“He loiters around **my** temple, stalks **my** slave in hopes of bedding her, all to _spite me_.”

“Lower your voice, child,” Mythal reprimanded as her eyes became fixated on something in the distance. The day was dark, gloomy with storm clouds. “He is just being a man.”

As if that was a good excuse, a good reason to anger her. “I will not be made a fool! He will pay for mocking me!” She was enraged. Her body shook from the sheer anger within her. 

“That is enough!” Mythal so rarely raised her voice. She was gentle, comforting in nature. But she was growing weary of these childish antics. She turned to face Andruil with unmatched fierceness. “He is a _man_ and men take whatever they please, whomever they please. I have lost count of the times I lay alone in my bed, listening to the walls as they echoed the pleasures Elgar'nan was taking from another woman. Pleasures meant for he and I alone. But what was I do to? Strike him? Refuse to let him share my bed - when he so rarely visited my chambers?”

Andruil stood silent before the golden-haired Goddess. Mythal let out a heavy sigh, as if to calm herself. “Do not let your anger add fuel to his fire. He will grow tired of her before long,” she reasoned. “In the meantime, you have two choices: sit and wallow in your hatred, or find yourself a similar distraction.” 

Andruil relented. Mythal was wise. “What did you do?”

As if on cue, the doors to the terrace opened and a tall, lean man stepped to Mythal’s side. “My Lady,” he bowed, “the preparations have been completed.”

Mythal nodded, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She did not answer Andruil, merely met her eyes and smiled. “Thank you, Abelas.” The man turned to leave and Mythal called out to him just before he disappeared behind those doors. “I will be in need of your _assistance_ tonight, Abelas.”

\---

It was midday and Nayah was doing all she could to keep cool. The sun scorched everything around her, seeping its fire into anything that it touched. She couldn't even lean against her favorite pillar. Instead, she had to find shelter in the shades, wiping away sweat as it beaded around her forehead. 

She wondered what it was like inside the temple, if the worshipers and Sentinels were just as bothered by the heat. 

“Lady Lavellan.”

Her head snapped up from her insufferable trance, her eyes taking in the girl before her. She was young, no older than twelve if she had to guess, with red hair pulled back and freckles smeared with dirt. Nayah had not heard the girl approach, perhaps too lost in the heat and her thoughts. The girl's smile was bright and her eyes sparkled as she held her hands out to Nayah, offering her a basket filled with those delicious bread rolls that she loved so much and _water_. Cool, crisp water inside crystal bottles that usually held wine. A luxury only the wealthy could afford.

She cocked an eyebrow, hesitantly stepping forward to take the offering. She had never seen this child before. The girl caught on, answering her unspoken question. “Fen’Harel sends his regards. He regrets that he will not be able to join you today, but hopes that this will make amends.”

Ah, that explained his absence. For days on end, he was by her side. He didn't miss a single day, except, well, today.

Nayah stilled for a brief moment, contemplating on sending the gift back to its owner. But she was parched and the beads of condensation on the ice cold crystal only served to remind her of how incredibly hot it was today.

Nayah took the basket, smiling at the little girl. “Thank you. Please pass along my gratitude to your master.” 

Blue eyes squinted as the young girl giggled. “He also requests that you accompany him tonight to a ball in his honor.” Nayah opened her mouth to decline the offer, “- _and_ , he knows that you will decline. He says, if you change your mind, follow the wolves and they will guide you.” 

As if on cue, two beautiful wolves emerged from behind the trees. Their fur was striking, the purest white she had ever seen. Even from a distance, Nayah could make out the piercing blue hue of their irises. 

The wolves nestled up against nearby tree trunks, yawning lazily before curling up against the bark. 

Nayah, still stunned by the beauty of those two regal creatures, could barely make out what the little girl was saying, still too lost in a trance.

“Lady Lavellan?”

“Huh? What - sorry, I didn't catch that.”

Again, a fit of innocent giggles filled the air. “I said, the Lord has left garments for you to wear should you decide to attend. He asks that you wear them.”

Before Nayah could ask the girl about these garments - whether to ask where they were or to refuse them and send them back - the redhead turned on her heel and began to skip back down the path, humming merrily to herself. 

_Well,_ Nayah thought to herself, _at least someone can manage to remain so jovial in this miserable heat._ She moved down to the stone steps, taking a seat and setting the basket down next to her. She pulled out one of the water bottles, finding the object rather heavy. There were two more in the basket and Nayah could only imagine how exhausted the young girl must have been from carrying the hefty basket. 

She popped the top off and threw her head back as she chugged down the cold liquid. Her throat felt like sandpaper and the water felt good as it soothed her dry mouth and throat. Before she knew it, half the bottle was already gone. 

She pulled the bottle back, licking her lips and moistening them. Hey eyes lingered on the bottle in her hand, examining the craftsmanship. It was truly exquisite in design and execution. She wondered just how much a single bottle like this must cost.

A shuffle from afar caught her eye and Nayah looked up to find the two enthralling creatures crossing over to her. 

“You two must be parched.” She descended the rest of the steps and knelt down before the two snow-white beauties. With her left hand she made a cup while her right poured water into the little, makeshift well. Slowly, she extended her hand, offering it to the wolf closest to her. 

The creature was hesitant at first, tentatively approaching and sniffing Nayah’s hand. Eventually it gave in and Nayah couldn't help but smile as the wolf lapped up every last drop. She poured more water and offered it to the other wolf.

\---

She cursed him for his taste in fashion. She had told herself that she would not partake in his gift or his offer to the ball. She didn’t need anything he could give. _She didn’t want anything he could give._

But her resolve had weakened the moment she laid eyes on the gold fabric sprawled across her bed sheets. She didn’t question _how_ the garment made it into her room, nor did she bother to look around and note anything that might have been missing. Her focus was on the long, silk gown, the sparkle detail reflecting in her awe-struck eyes.

She had all but torn her clothes off in favor of this _gift_. She slipped into the snug confines and dared to give herself a good look-over in her bedroom mirror. The gown was exquisite. The arms were made of golden lace from shoulder to wrist. Silk covered the rest of her body, save for her back. There was practically no coverage, she noted, as the fabric dipped down to just above her tailbone, exposing the tanned skin of her back. The front was a little more modest as it covered her breasts fully, but as her eyes trailed down the length of the gown she noted the long slit at the side. Her right thigh was exposed, the parted fabric caressing her soft flesh. The bodice was sprinkled with small, glittering crystal stones in no particular pattern. It was truly a gown fit for a Goddess.

 _A Goddess._ Not her. 

She sighed, reluctantly tearing herself away from her reflection. She sat down on her bed, resting her elbows on her knees and cupping her face in her hands. _I should go,_ she told herself, _at least to show my gratitude. I mean, this dress must have cost a fortune. It would be rude to just decline._ She was no longer sure if she was trying to convince herself to go, or justify her ~~already made~~ decision to go.

He did invite her, after all. He was the Dread Wolf, after all. And who would turn down an invitation from the Dread Wolf?

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--- usually denotes a different day. I was proof-reading and I realized that it was dark and gloomy during Mythal and Andruil's scene, but scorching hot during Nayah's. Just wanted to clarify in case anyone got confused.
> 
> As always, feedback makes me super happy. It is not required, but I love learning what the audience likes/dislikes.


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